


Wherever You Will Go

by jo_anne_storm



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, verbal abuse from a bad guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-30
Updated: 2004-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo_anne_storm/pseuds/jo_anne_storm
Summary: What if Buffy wasn’t in Rome? What if she was in trouble and didn’t even know it?
Relationships: Michael Corvin/Selene, Spike/Buffy Summers
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t have plot bunnies; I have plot cats. Most of the time they laze around, sitting in the sun. Every once in awhile, though, they see a bit of string and decide to pounce on it, or want to be petted at 4:30 in the morning.
> 
> OK, something to take into consideration with this fic. I have no idea where Underworld is supposed to take place. So, in my little corner of the universe, I have declared that it takes place in Prague. Hmmm… Now who do I know that has been to Prague?
> 
> Also, I’ve never been to Prague, so my descriptions of places are probably filled with inaccuracies. Please forgive them.
> 
> (Written way back in 2004, guys.)

Spike walked through the dock area, looking for any signs of the girl. He had already been through the slums and the warehouse district, dark alleys and deserted streets. And had found fuck all for his trouble.  
  
The girl was a slayer, wasn’t that a kick in the pants. He didn’t let it worry him, though. He was the Slayer of Slayers, after all. Had killed two in under a century. Wasn’t another vampire alive that could make that claim. Or one undead, for that matter.  
  
Of course… That was before the soul. Before the girl. Before the chip. He had changed since the last time he had put a slayer notch on his belt. He had kept in shape of course, had needed to in order to keep his own hide safe from the demons who considered him a traitor. And he had fought and beat turok-han, the vamps vampires feared. Yeah, he was a rock.  
  
A slight noise caught his attention, dragging him out of his silent pep talk. He sniffed the air, trying to detect a single scent amongst the multitude that permeated the dock area. It was impossible. The smell of the sea overwhelmed everything else.  
  
Cautiously, he turned a corner and paused, pretending to study a bit of dirt. In reality, he was listening to the sound of scurrying footprints and the unsubtle creak of new leather. The steps had the clump of heavy boots to them, and he caught a hint of cheap tobacco. It was enough to tell him who his shadow was.  
  
He gave a little huff of annoyance and walked on, keeping a lookout for any signs of the Looney Toons slayer and one ear on his candidate for bumbling sidekick.  
  
It didn’t take long for Andrew’s lame attempts at being stealthy to annoy him past the point of polite ignoring. With a growl of frustration, he called out into the shadows.  
  
“Right. We can play cat and mouse all night,” he pulled Andrew out by his lapels. “Or I could wedgie you unconscious and be done with it.” He thrust the idiot away from him, vainly hoping he would get a clue about his lack of welcome.  
  
“Bravo,” Andrew exclaimed. “I see your senses seem to be as well-honed as your Viggo Mortensen pectorals.”  
  
Spike rolled his eyes and walked away, only to have him follow behind.  
  
“What are you doin' out here, Andrew?”  
  
“This is where the action is, bro. On the mean streets. Can you dig it? “  
  
”Go back to Wolfram & Hart. Don't have time for games.”  
  
”That's good, 'cause Andy ain't playin'.” He could only raise an eyebrow as the geek opened his duster to reveal several guns strapped to the lining. Not that he believed that any of it was real, except maybe the taser. Andrew didn’t have the muscle, or the balls, to carry around that much weaponry.  
  
”You're not the only one who's changed,” he continued, closing his coat once again. “Mr. Giles has been training me. I'm faster, stronger, and 82% more manly than the last time we — ugh“  
  
Spike kept walking, unconcerned that the little ponce had tripped. His erstwhile companion’s high-pitched, and definitely unmanly, scream, brought him around in a fighting stance.  
  
Nothing was rushing at him, neither ooze-dripping demon nor wack-job chosen one-of-hundreds. He relaxed slightly as he looked down at Andrew, wondering what had upset the boy so much.  
  
“Son of a — “ he muttered, seeing the answer immediately. Andrew scrambled away from the bloody corpse. The sea air and Andrew’s prattle had kept him from scenting the blood that still dribbled from a few wounds. The body was fresh, meaning that whoever or whatever had killed him should still be close by.  
  
“Gross!” Andrew moaned, climbing to his feet.  
  
“Is the girly-man gonna hurl?” Spike snarked. “Bloody hell, grow some balls, you little piss ant. You killed your best friend -- a corpse should be old hat by now.”  
  
“Sh-should we call an ambulance?”  
  
“Won’t help the poor blighter,” he replied, kneeling by the head of the dead man. He tilted his head from side to side, studying the body from every angle. The face was mangled, no doubt due to facial bones being smashed to bits. Very little blood was coming from the few wounds, making him think that the bones sticking up through the skin had been broken after the bloke had breathed his last.  
  
“Pure rage,” Andrew intoned superciliously. He had apparently gotten over his shock.  
  
“Sounds like a demented slayer to me,” he said, leaving the body where they found it and continuing on. Hopefully some carrion demons would find it and clean up the mess.  
  
“We’re rebuilding the Watcher’s Council,” Andrew chattered after they had traveled for ten minutes. “The survivors of the Hellmouth, that is. We have weekly teleconferences to make sure everyone’s on the same page. It’s essential in the organization.”  
  
He paused as a distant ship’s foghorn blared through the night. “Well, mostly, I talk to Rupert. But we all check in. Xander's in Africa. He sent me an mbuna fish. And Willow and Kennedy are in Brazil. They're based in Sao Paulo, but, um, every time I talk to them, they're in Rio.”  
  
Spike wandered between two massive shipping crates, testing the air. Andrew, noticing his absence, asked “What's it smell like? Blood, I mean?”  
  
“Metallic, sorta,” he answered distractedly. “You ever taste a penny?”  
  
“No. Wait... no.”  
  
“Smells like that.”  
  
He returned to the whelp and continued walking in the direction they had been taking. He bit his bottom lip, the only outward sign of his nervousness over asking the question that had plagued him since he first saw Andrew. No, since he first found himself in Angel’s bloody office.  
  
“So, uh...you heard from Buffy lately? “  
  
”Yeah. Of course, uh...she's in Prague. Dawn’s in Rome with Giles, in school there. Italian school.”  
  
Andrew, realizing that Spike had stopped walking, turned around to look at him. “What?”  
  
“Did you say she was in Prague?” he asked, his voice emotionless.  
  
“Yeah. She got there Monday. Spike? Spike!”  
  
Spike ignored the boy’s calls as he sprinted back the way they had come. The only thought running through his mind was _Buffy’s in Prague._  
  
“Spike?” Andrew whimpered, feeling the darkness crowd him without his vampire companion.  
  


* * *

  
Spike burst into Wolfram and Hart’s well-appointed conference room, looking wildly around for his ponce of a grandsire. The hair gel king sat behind a stack of folders, deeply involved in the one lying open before him. With a growl, the bleached vampire threw himself at his elder, knocking him out of the cushy chair and scattering the worthless files.  
  
“Did you know she was in Prague?” he growled, oblivious to the fact that he was in full game face.  
  
“Spike, you stupid limey piece of crap, get the fuck off me!”  
  
Spike, too far gone to obey any such order, wrapped his hands around Angel’s throat and squeezed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew choking wouldn’t hurt his rival, but vampire instinct demanded that he go for the throat.  
  
“Did you bloody well know she was in Prague?” he snarled, shaking Angel’s neck hard enough that his head rebounded against the carpeted floor. He wished it were stone so that he could hear the satisfying thumps the action was sure to make.  
  
He was so focused on Angel that he didn’t notice Gunn and Wesley rushing to tackle him from the side. His inattention made it easy for them to pin him to the ground, where it took all of their combined strength, plus the addition of Lorne, to keep him down.  
  
Angel stood and gave a few reflexive coughs as Fred fluttered around him, muttering about possible damage to his vocal cords.  
  
“What is your problem?” Angel finally asked, looming over the still struggling Spike.  
  
“She’s in Prague, you ponce!”  
  
“Who is?” his grandsire asked, thoroughly confused by the younger vampire’s actions.  
  
“Buffy,” Wesley stated, having gotten an update from Andrew earlier.  
  
“Buffy’s in Prague?” Angel asked, showing, in Spike’s opinion, his usual lack of intelligence. “I didn’t know that.”  
  
“Let me go,” Spike snarled, redoubling his efforts to get free. Angel was forced to hold his legs so that he wouldn’t kick Wesley in the head.  
  
“Spike, I didn’t know she was in Prague,” Angel said, trying to sooth the frantic vampire. “What’s the big deal?”  
  
“She’s in danger, you bloody, poofy idiot!”  
  
Wesley looked confused. “She should be perfectly safe in Prague. It’s a dead zone when it comes to the supernatural. I’d be surprised if she even ran into a vampire while there.”  
  
The bleached vamp growled is response.  
  
Wesley studied the frantic demon he was restraining. Spike truly seemed to believe that Buffy was in danger. It made sense, if he thought about it. Prague, or more accurately, a mob, had almost taken Drusilla away from him years ago. Wesley had read Giles’s accounts of the lengths Spike had went through to restore his black goddess to health, including an attempt at what basically amounted to patricide. He could only assume that his past experience in that city had left him with an irrational fear of it. And, upon hearing that Buffy was there, acted instinctively out of fear for a loved one’s safety.  
  
He suddenly, possibly irrationally, found himself sharing an affinity with the mercurial vamp. He understood perfectly the lengths Spike would go through to protect Buffy from a perceived threat. He himself had shot his own father, or at least a cyborg with his father’s face, for the transgression of threatening Fred. It didn’t matter that Fred didn’t think of him in that way. All that mattered was that the woman he loved had been in danger.  
  
Whether the threat was real or not, it was real enough to Spike. That’s all that mattered at the moment.  
  
“Don’t tell me you believe that garbage about there being a different breed of vampire there?” Angel was scoffing, oblivious of Wesley’s moment of clarity. “News flash, Brain Trust, if there was another breed of vampire, I’d know about it.”  
  
He looked at both Wesley and Gunn for confirmation, one representing the knowledge of the Council and the other of Wolfram and Hart. Wesley remained silent, knowing that his assurances of Buffy’s safety would be pushed aside.  
  
Gunn, even with his implanted knowledge, did not have the same instinct. “Chill, dude. Ain’t no such thing. It’s just a Boogey Man story mamma vamps tell their kiddies.”  
  
As predicted, neither Angel’s disbelief nor Gunn’s point blank denial calmed the frantic vamp. He still continued to struggle against the four men holding him down.  
  
“Angel,” Fred said, appearing at Angel’s side with a hypodermic needle. Wesley wasn’t sure if she had left to get it or had ordered Harmony, who was hovering on one side, wringing her hands, to get it, but he could guess what it contained – a sedative. One strong enough to knock out a master vampire.  
  
“Angel,” Wesley said as his boss took the syringe from Fred. He firmly shook his head, receiving a scowl from the broody vamp in return. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Harmony, have them prep the jet.”  
  
“Boss?” Harmony questioned, her voice wavery with confusion.  
  
“You can’t be serious?” Angel said, adjusting his grip on Spike’s legs. The younger vampire, having heard the ex-watcher’s order, had slowed his struggles, allowing them all to get firmer handholds. Wesley didn’t bother. He had a feeling Spike would be cooperative shortly.  
  
“I’m perfectly serious. Tell them that we’re going to Prague.”  
  
“Wesley, I can’t just let Spike go haring off on a wild goose chase. As annoying as he is around here, it’s better than having him out in the general public. Who knows what kind of trouble he could get into by himself.”  
  
“He won’t be by himself,” Wesley said, making a split second decision. “I plan on traveling with him.”  
  
“I don’t need a soddin’ babysitter,” Spike stated, now lying still and watching the byplay between Wes and Angel.  
  
“Of course not,” Wesley agreed, releasing his hold on the leather-clad arm. Spike flexed it but refrained from lashing out, no matter how much he wanted to do otherwise. “However, Prague is an interesting research opportunity. There has been no record of demonic activity there for several centuries. Perhaps there is a mystical convergence that repels the supernatural to an extent. Obviously, since we know Spike has been there, the phenomena is not infallible. But, if I can replicate it, we would be able to greatly reduce the number of demons in certain cities. Say, ones containing hellmouths or other dangerous portals. It could tip the scales.”  
  
Angel, Lorne, and Gunn, having finally noticed that Spike was no longer struggling, cautiously released him. They remained tense, ready to spring back into action if he went berserk again.  
  
“No demonic activity for several centuries?” Angel asked, his forehead crinkling in thought.  
  
“Wolfram and Hart doesn’t even have a branch there,” Gunn revealed. “It’s the only major city in the world that does not have an office.”  
  
“Interesting. OK, Harm, prep the jet. Wes, feel free to stake Spike if he gets out of hand. Please.”  
  


* * *

  
It was a beautiful city, Buffy had decided. The obvious age of the buildings and the worn cobbles on the street gave it a comforting feel. It was almost alive with history.  
  
She had spent the last two days taking in the more popular tours, just so that she could truthfully tell Giles that she had spent her time sight seeing. She went to the Prague Castle and wandered the echoing halls of Old Royal Palace, the Lobkowitz Palace, and St. George's Basilica and Cloister. She dutifully strolled the Charles Bridge and studied each of the Old Town Bridge Tower’s thirty statues, taking pictures of them like any normal tourist would do.  
  
She played tourist during the day, but the night was her own. At night she wandered the streets of the Stare Mesto, the Old Town, and the Josefov, the Jewish ghetto. They were places he would have frequented, she believed. Not because he would have particularly wanted to, but because Dru would have found the old world style to be soothing. The stones would have whispered their secrets and the ancient graves in the Old Jewish Cemetery would have charmed her. No doubt she would have had her darling deadly boy exhume one of the long dead children so that she could play with it.  
  
No, Spike had always tried to stay relatively modern, for all that his look was stuck in the 80s. He would have preferred the outskirts of the city, where the buildings did not announce that they were Baroque or Gothic as if that would change a person’s opinion of the structure. On the outskirts the buildings did not look disapprovingly upon tourists who dirtied them with their fingers and blinded them with their flashes. But, as he had always said, he was had been a fool for love and would have followed Dru wherever she led.  
  
She often wondered where they stayed in their sojourn. He had never spoken of his time in the city, not even to Dawn. Perhaps they had pretended to be human, a husband and wife honeymooning in a romantic city, braving the still unstable political landscape left by the formation of a new republic. They would have stayed in one of the hotels then. Perhaps even the one where she now roomed.  
  
Or they could have broken into one of the historic sites; maybe the Prague Loreta, overcoming the pain of so many religious artifacts nearby to listen to the thirty Loreta hand bells ring out the hours. Or to simply sit and gaze at the diamond monstrance, the 6,222 diamonds replacing the stars that talked to her so often. Or, knowing Dru, simply because the roof was red.  
  
She also wondered if any of the people she passed during her wanderings had once been part of the mob that had so wounded Dru and propelled Spike into her life. Had the priest eating a late dinner whipped the mob into a frenzy with his church doctrine? Or had the waitress’s daughter been drained, starting a chain of events?  
  
Not that it mattered now. She couldn’t fault the people of Prague for protecting themselves. In actuality, she should probably thank them for starting the chain of events that had so changed her life.  
  
Eight months. It had been eight months since the Hellmouth collapsed and took him with it. She had spent the intervening time traveling Europe, finding new slayers and helping to rebuild the Counsel. She had visited London and Berlin, had gazed at the Sistine Chapel and Notre Dame. In Spain she had found her father, literally bumping into him on the street. Him and his current attempt to convince himself that he wasn’t on the wrong side of forty. She was younger than Buffy.  
  
She had settled in Rome, though, falling in love with the warmth and peacefulness of the city. She had left Dawn there, under Giles’s guardianship, as she took her first vacation in eight months. No, longer than that. For the first time since they had reopened Sunnydale High. It was nice. A definite relief after so many months of nonstop fear and worry.  
  
Giles had looked at her strangely when she had told him her destination. He suspected the reason behind it, but kept his thoughts to himself. Dawn had given her a knowing look, Willow a sympathetic murmur across the Atlantic, and Xander a confused silence. But all had kept their own counsel.  
  
Tired of walking, at least temporarily, she settled at a small café, a booth near the window. It was still too cold in Prague for the restaurants to offer alfresco dining, especially at midnight. But she enjoyed the cold; after living her whole life in sunny California and settling in warm Rome, the cold was invigorating.  
  
The café was mostly deserted. Tourist season hadn’t started yet and most of the locals were home in bed. The café catered to staff at the local hospital, and was one of Buffy’s favorite places to people watch.  
  
At the moment, she shared the space with only one young man, an intern, she would guess by the scrubs he sported. He was at a table in the back, drinking coffee and looking around a trifle nervously. She thought it was because of the rain that threatened, thunder echoing off the stone and lightening throwing everything in sharp relief. He sorta reminded her of a guy she had gone to school with, from the swim team. Gage something or other, she didn’t remember. But it wasn’t him. Gage Whatshisname was attacked by a vampire senior year and she wasn’t there to stop it. He had survived the swim team and an attack by Angelus, but because she had decided to patrol one cemetery instead of another, he had died. And he hadn’t risen, she had camped out at his grave for a week to make sure.  
  
Such was the life of a slayer.


	2. Chapter 2

Michael Corvin stopped cautiously outside the Zrnko Kávy Café, carefully sniffing the air and listening for any signs that someone was following him. He could smell Raze off in the distance, circling the block looking for anyone who might cause trouble. But the street was quiet, with no trace of vehicle or pedestrian traffic; just as it should be at 12 in the morning.  
  
Satisfied that no vampires were around, he entered the café and immediately went to the back, where Adam Petronzi was sitting, nervously glancing around as if he expected someone to jump out at him. The only other people in the café were the waitress and a young woman, a tourist, judging by her attire.  
  
“Adam,” he said, slipping into the booth his one-time colleague was occupying. Despite the young doctor’s constant scanning of the café, he had not heard Michael arrive and therefore jumped when his voice cut through the silence.  
  
“Mi-Michael,” Adam returned, gulping audibly.  
  
“How are you?”  
  
“How am I?” his friend asked, voice rising slightly before he got it under control again. “Where the hell have you been, Michael? The cops have been looking for you. You disappeared for a year and people have been asking where you are. They’ve been showing your picture around town, yours and some girl’s.”  
  
“They aren’t cops,” Michael stated, folding his hands in front of him and leaning forward. “They’re the people who I’ve been running from.”  
  
“Why?” Adam hissed. “What are you involved in?”  
  
Michael sighed and ran one hand through his hair. He needed to get it cut again, but there always seemed to be so much else to worry about that small things got pushed to the back. Life and death struggles were that way, he guessed.  
  
“I need a favor.”  
  
“A favor!”  
  
“It’s nothing big. Just some bandages and stuff. The kinds of things interns always nick from the supply closet.”  
  
“What are you involved in?” Adam repeated.  
  
“Just… I’m helping people, Adam. People who need my help. That’s the reason I became a doctor in the first place.”  
  
“So you’re helping terrorists?”  
  
“What?” he asked, confused by the question.  
  
“The girl, they said she was a terrorist; that they found plans to blow up the Castle at her apartment. Michael, please tell me you aren’t involved in anything like that.”  
  
“I’m not,” he assured him, trying to look as innocent as possible. Selene would say that he didn’t need to project innocence, that it flowed off of him in waves.  
  
“Bandages, Adam, that’s all I’m asking,” he repeated.  
  
Adam regarded him for a moment before nodding. “Alright. I’m working ER tomorrow night. Come find me.” He tossed a few pieces of money on the table and left, leaving Michael to wonder if he could trust his friend -- and if he had any choice but to trust him.  
  
He had thought, naively, that the Vampire-Lycan feud would end with the death of Viktor. Instead, it had escalated to a level unseen for five centuries, since before the faked death of Lucian.  
  
The two great covens were in chaos. Marcus, whose own coven had been destroyed in the chaos that had existed before the Covenant was formed, had fought valiantly to keep the in-fighting under control, but it was a losing battle, especially considering the loss of the Council. The covens each struggled to elect a new leader through sheer brutality.  
  
Amelia’s coven, devastated by the massacre of the eldest and strongest, had finally settled for a vamp barely two hundred years old, Corbett. He was an unknown, and the one Coven member they worried about the most. The young tended to have hot blood.  
  
Rumor had it that Kahn was the new elder of Victor’s coven. Selene had confessed that she didn’t understand what the struggle had been about. Everyone knew that Kraven had betrayed the Covenant, and Kahn was a strong choice.  
  
Kraven, craving power, had formed his own coven of outcasts. They were the ones that hounded the Lycans most often; the others were too busy with their internal problems to bother with the dwindling population of werewolves. Either that or they were waiting for Kraven’s silver nitrate bullets and his unyielding hatred of Michael and Selene to take care of the problem for them.  
  
The thought of Selene pulled his mind away from worries over the Covenant and to worries about the standoffish vampire. She was growing increasingly despondent over the last few months, her exile from the Coven weighing heavily on her mind, as was the death of Viktor by her own hand. The fact that she was now allied with Lycans, the very creatures she had been taught to hate for so long, just added to the confusion she must feel.  
  
At least, that’s what he thought was going through her head. Selene wasn’t known for sharing. He would often hold her during the day, wishing against all hope that she would talk to him about something other than training and food shortages.  
  
No doubt, if she saw him now, she’d berate him for having his back exposed. Raze was patrolling the area, and nothing could get through the huge Lycan’s watch.  
  
No sooner had he completed the thought than he heard the all-to-familiar sound of rapid gunfire. Behind him glass shattered; he flung himself to the ground and out of the hail of bullets. He heard the waitress and the tourist cry out in pain and could suddenly smell the metallic tang of blood. Despite the situation, the smell called to him, teasing his vampiric half like a siren calling a sailor.  
  
The subtle smell of brain matter brought him out of his stupor and his year of training kicked in. As he rolled away from the line of fire, he hoped that Selene never found out that all of the rigorous sessions she had put him through were for naught.  
  
Ignoring the glass that dug into his hands and knees, he crawled to the women. The waitress was a lost cause, her head a remnant of what it should have been. The tourist was on the floor, propped against the side of the booth, one hand clutching her left shoulder. He quickly scanned her face, noting the paleness of her skin and the sweat that beaded her brow. Her pupils were dilated and his otherworldly senses told him that her heart rate was fast and her breathing was quick and shallow. She was going into shock.  
  
Bullets continued to pummel the back wall of the café, causing small explosions of tile and mortar to fill the air with a white cloud of dust. It looked like a scene from _The Matrix._ There was no way he could try to treat the woman here, not with the flying bullets, razor-sharp pieces of tile flying through the air, and glass twinkling on the floor. He couldn’t leave her, not knowing who the attackers were. If it was Kraven and his band of rogues, they would most likely kill her simply for getting in the way. Corbett’s mob might do the same thing.  
  
“Put pressure on it,” he ordered in Czech, only to receive a blank look in return. Either she didn’t speak the language or was in too much shock to respond.  
  
“Keep pressure on it,” he ordered, pressing her hand against the wound, hard, and holding it there. He winced as he noticed silver liquid ooze out. Who ever was shooting was targeting Lycans, and this poor woman had gotten caught in the middle. He couldn’t let her die for a cause she knew nothing about.  
  
“Pressure, got it,” she said in English, her shaky voice tinged with Americana.  
  
Another hail of bullets had him pulling her to the floor and covering her body with his own. He winced as several knives of glass pierced his back and arms then shrugged off the pain as his very nature forced the foreign objects out and the wounds closed. He sat up and pulled the woman into the protective circle of his arms.  
  
He physically carried her to the back of the café, making sure that his larger frame shielded her smaller build. He took several bullets despite his unnatural speed, but got the woman out of the path of death without any more harm coming to her.  
  
He burst through the back door of the café, the one used for trash and deliveries as Raze went roaring past, both pistols blazing like a character in an old Western. What was it with Lycans and Vamps assuming that they were bullet proof?  
  
“Raze,” he called, screaming over the noise. “Here!”  
  
The large werewolf heard him and, still shooting, started retreating instead of advancing. Michael used the provided cover to dash away from the café, still carrying the American and leaving Raze to his own devices. The lycan could take care of himself, something Michael knew intimately.  
  
The sewer entrance he finally stopped at was well hidden to those that didn’t know of it -- which was what he was gambling on at the moment. They had gone over the scenario multiple times. Raze or another of Michael’s “honor guard” of over protective Lycan babysitters would give the half breed a chance to get away while the guard led the vampires on a wild goose chase, hopefully without getting his or her own ass fried.  
  
The woman was out, not surprising considering all she had been put through in the last ten minutes. He set her down for long enough to check the wound and was surprised and pleased to see that the bleeding had slowed. Now, he just had to get to the lair so that he could remove the bullet casing and clean the wound.  
  
The lair wasn’t in the sewers, but they did provide easy access and hidden routes. They were stationed in an abandoned warehouse near the Vltava River. The area had been used for shipping before the city had expanded once again. Now, it was part of the slums.  
  
He carried her into the building, immediately noticing the silence. His Lycans stood in various positions, each eyeing him and his burden warily. Mutters started in the back, wondering who the woman was and why he had brought her here. They could all smell the blood but knew their alpha forbade munching on humans.  
  
Other, quieter mutters wondered how Selene would react to him carrying a beautiful human. They all knew how she had dealt with the few females who had tried to proposition the powerful hybrid after he became alpha. They didn’t have many females, and losing any to the Blood’s temper was not something they wanted. And the fact that Michael was unaware of the level of possessiveness his lover exhibited on occasion was amazing as far as the Clan was concerned.  
  
“I need alcohol and bandages,” Michael called out, hurrying towards their makeshift infirmary. Lycans traditionally didn’t spend a lot of time recovering from wounds, even silver inflicted ones. But the new silver nitrate bullets had changed all that. The few that made it back to the lair after getting hit by one needed constant care for the first few days of recovery. He had had to train several of the wolves to help out.  
  
He gently laid her on one scrubbed table. He knew that Lycans didn’t have to worry about infections, but habit made him insist on as close to hospital standards as possible. He was thankful for the habit now.  
  
“Scissors,” he demanded, receiving the implement as soon as he held out his hand. He quickly cut the woman’s jacket and shirt away, dulling the scissors on the thick leather. The wound was ugly, seeping Lycan death onto her pale skin.  
  
“Forceps,” he said as he felt Selene enter the room. It was a subtle shift, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, the smell of gun oil, and the stiffening of his wolves all combining to tell him who exactly it was. He would have known it was her even without all of those factors. He just knew when she was around.  
  
He ignored her for the moment, intent on removing the casing from the young woman’s shoulder. Once he had it out, and he thanked whatever gods looked out for his kind that she remained unconscious throughout the procedure; he demanded more alcohol and swabs to clean the silver nitrate from the hole.  
  
He finished cleaning out the wound, wincing over the raw quality of the flesh. He had almost forgotten the damage a simple piece of metal could do to a normal human. In a perfect world, or in a hospital, he would have sutures that would eventually absorb into her flesh and he could sew up the several layers of muscle and flesh that the bullet had damaged. As it was, he had to pack the wound with the few sterile pads he had left and pray that she was strong enough to fight off any infection she might develop.  
  
Finally finished, he washed his hands before turning to his lover. She was standing in the doorway in all her leather-clad glory, studying their new guest.  
  
“She can’t stay here,” she stated, her voice carefully modulated. He sometimes wondered what she had been like before she had lost her humanity. Had it been when she was turned or sometime in the intervening years since then? He didn’t even know when she had been turned.  
  
She was at least one hundred years old. He knew that from what little she had told him about the Covenant. Viktor, her sire, had ruled from 1802 to 1902. But, as far as he knew, Viktor could have turned her sometime during his previous reign, from 1502 to 1602. One hundred years after Kraven and Lucian had faked the Lycan leader’s death.  
  
“And we also can’t move her right now, not safely. I did enough damage getting her here.”  
  
“Why didn’t you leave her at a hospital?” she asked, coming further into the room. She stopped just out of touching distance, with him yet not.  
  
“And what would happen when they saw the silver leaking from the wound?”  
  
“They would assume that someone had read too many horror novels.” She stepped a little closer and clasped one on his hands in her own. “Her presence is a danger.”  
  
“So was mine, when you helped me. She got hurt because of me, Selene. Because Kraven despises me for stealing you away from him.”  
  
She hissed, her brown eyes turning ice blue in her irritation. “I was never his.”  
  
“He doesn’t see it that way. The fact that I’m an abomination just adds to his hatred.” He lovingly cupped one cheek, thrilled that she allowed him to. “It’s only for the day. By tomorrow night she should be well enough to move without injuring her further.”  
  
“And if she’s not?”  
  
He had no answer for her.  
  


* * *

  
They arrived at the Prague airport just at sundown on Thursday. With the law firm’s special jet, they made the trip in five hours, starting out at 8 am, LA time. Spike had been almost rabid at the delay, but Wesley had convinced him that they needed the time to pack, gather weapons, and plan. “And,” he had pointed out. “You’ll want to search for her as soon as we get there. It won’t do her much good if you burst into flame the minute you step off the plane.”  
  
Wolfram and Hart’s resources had found the hotel she was staying at, a high-priced deal in the middle of the historic district. Andrew, if he knew any more information, was refusing to say anything. A call to Giles had also netted nothing but a demand that they allow Buffy to enjoy her much-needed vacation.  
  
Spike was a nightmare on the plane. If Wesley had known that the hyperactive vampire had never flown before, he might have seriously considered changing his mind -- or at least allowing Fred to dose him with the tranquilizer. The bleached vamp paced up and down the aisle of the plane, chain smoking and muttering to himself for the full five hours.  
  
“Hotel first,” Wesley ordered as they disembarked from the jet. A car was waiting discreetly to one side of the metal stairway. It was one of those rare times he thoroughly enjoyed the power that came from working for an evil law firm. It would have made his original trip to Sunnydale much easier if he hadn’t had to explain all the archaic weapons he had brought across the pond.  
  
“Bugger that!”  
  
“Spike, you’ll feel rather stupid if you scour the city looking for her only to come back at dawn to find that she’s been sipping tea with me.” He said it in his most reasonable tone, hoping that his sheer calmness would get through to the worried vampire.  
  
“Right. Right. Let’s go, then.” Spike climbed into the car and allowed his knee to bounce, the only outward sign of his agitation.  
  
Wesley settled beside him and calmly waited for the driver to retrieve their luggage from the plane. Within minutes they were underway.  
  
A bell boy was waiting for the car when they arrived and quietly escorted them to their suite of rooms, another perk to working for Wolfram and Hart. A few quiet questions assured him that Buffy was not in her room. According to the bellboy, she went out every evening and returned very late. The well-trained man kept any hint of disapproval out of his voice.  
  
“She’s out in the city somewhere,” he finally told Spike after generously tipping the young man. “Stays out for most of the night. Patrolling, perhaps?”  
  
“Dead zone, remember?” Spike replied, his voice snarky. “I’ll go look for her.”  
  
He quickly gathered up a short sword that could be hidden in his prized duster and several different types of throwing knives. He had been very specific when he had raided Wolfram and Hart’s armory. All of the weapons had a silver coating and he had insisted that Wesley stock up on silver bullets. It made the ex-watcher wonder if Spike did indeed know something that no one else did.  
  
“Spike,” he called just before the blonde reached the door. Spike turned back to him with a low growl, irritated at being delayed once again. “Speed dial 1 is my number,” he said, tossing a small cell phone. “Call me if you find anything.”  
  
Spike easily caught the phone and nodded before disappearing out the door.  
  
He had thought sniffing out the slayer would be easy. After all, he could still identify her unique scent even after eight months of separation. What he hadn’t counted on was her traipsing all over the damn city, playing tourist. Even following the freshest scent trail led him from the Josefov to the Nove Mesto to the Smentana Theater and back to the Stare Mesto.  
  
He tracked her scent faithfully, though, following the path she must have laid earlier that evening. It was after midnight when he found the apparent end of the line, a thing that filled him full of fear.  
  
A small café stood mockingly in front of him, secure behind a police barricade. From where he stood he could smell gunpowder and could see the damage inflicted on the little building. More worryingly, he could smell Buffy’s blood and the stench of death.  
  
Trying not to go bug fucking crazy at the two smells combined, he snagged a copper and put on his best worried tourist act.  
  
“Excuse me,” he said, reverting to the accent he had grown up using. “I was supposed to meet my girl here. Please, where is she? What happened?”  
  
The patrolman look at him in confusion, not understanding English.  
  
“ _Mluvíte_ English?” he tried again, hoping that his scattering of Czech had not deteriorated to the point of total incomprehension.  
  
The cop rattled off something too fast for Spike to catch and pointed to another officer, hopefully the detective in charge, judging by the way he was surveying everything.  
  
He quickly made his way to the man, praying that Buffy was alright.  
  
“My girlfriend was supposed to meet me here,” he told the man, forgoing any pleasantries. “Where is she; was she hurt?”  
  
“Calm down, Mister…” the detective said in accented English, obviously fishing for a name.  
  
“Angelus,” he answered, years of distrusting authority figures coming to the fore. “William Angelus. My girl’s name is Winni Burke.” He was sure Fred would forgive him for bastardizing her name -- if she ever found out.  
  
“Mr. Angelus, if you could give me a description of Miss Burke –“  
  
“Why wouldn’t she tell you her name,” he asked, the fear in his voice real. “Is she OK?”  
  
“Mr. Angelus, please. A description.”  
  
He quickly outlined Buffy’s appearance, trying to keep his voice from trembling too badly. The detective wrote everything down, nodding his head every so often and making soft humming noises.  
  
“I can’t tell you much, sir,” the detective said after confirming the description. “It is an on-going investigation, after all. I can tell you that your young lady was not found in the café. Perhaps she was running late, yes?”  
  
“Maybe,” Spike replied, forcing a hopeful note into his voice. Buffy had been there, he could smell her. “She could have lost track of time in the last museum she wanted to visit… Yes… I’ll go check.”  
  
He made to run off, only to get delayed by the officer handing him a business card with strict instructions to call whether he found “Miss Burke” or not.  
  
Once he was sure he was out of sight, he circled back around, hoping to catch another whiff of slayer blood. Sure enough, less than a block away, he picked up the trail. Buffy’s scent was mixed in with that of several others; a wolf, he would guess by the slightly wild tang of the smell, a pack of vampires, gunpowder, and something else. Something that made his hackles rise.  
  
He tracked the scent, growing increasingly worried by the fact that Buffy’s trail never left that of the Other. And the bastardized vampires and werewolves that populated the area seemed to be after them. Buffy had managed to get herself caught in the middle of the turf war he himself had gotten caught in years ago.  
  
The vampires of Prague were truly unlike any others in the world. For all of Angel’s scoffing, they really were a breed apart -- and they didn’t like others in their territory. Add that to the feud they had going with the local werewolf pack and it added up to a very dangerous situation.  
  
He and Dru had arrived in Prague in ’95, hoping for a little peaceful slaughter in the supernatural dead zone that everyone knew surrounded the Czech city. It had taken less than a week for the local vamps to find them. What had followed still confused him. Who had heard of vamps using guns, after all? They had fled their lair, taking to the sewers, only to find themselves smack dab in the middle of another fire fight, this time between the vamps and wolves. The ammunition the wolves were using had hit Dru, doing serious damage to her. Spike still didn’t know what they were firing from their guns, and he didn’t want to find out.  
  
The trail abruptly ended at a wall. Buffy’s scent, and the Other’s, faded into the wall and the wolf and vamps continued down the street. Unconcerned with the others, he studied the wall, wondering its secret.  
  
He must have stared at it for half an hour before he saw the tiny crack that ran up one side. It was then that he realized that it was more than a wall. He used brute strength to rip the concealed door off its hinges, revealing an entrance to the sewers.  
  
He was pleased to find, as he followed the twists and turns of the tunnel, that the smell of Buffy’s blood was growing fainter. That surely meant that her healing had kicked in and she was not wounded badly. But why was she still with the Other?  
  
The sewer eventually opened up near a wharf. The tang of the river overpowered his sense of smell for a moment, but he soon detected the hint of blood and the Other leading away from the docks. The smells overlapped other, older smells -- mainly werewolf, but also a smattering of the local vamp breed.  
  
He didn’t even consider calling Wesley as he continued to hunt. In fact, he had quite forgotten about the phone the other man had tossed to him on his way out. He was focused on one thing only: getting Buffy and getting her out of the blasted city as soon as possible.  
  
It was close to 2 when he finally found the lair. He couldn’t help but wonder how the stupid wolves had survived their petty little war for so long when they left obvious trails to their place of rest. Surely even the most nose-dead vamp could smell the wildness emanating from the old building.  
  
He cautiously drew his sword and silently approached the building. It was like most of the warehouses he had inhabited during his tenor as a master. With luck he would find an unguarded window near the top.  
  
He was indeed lucky. He had barely gotten in the building and around a corner when the guard came back, cradling a mug that smelled strongly of coffee. He silently left the wolf to enjoy his caffeine and continued to hunt for his slayer.  
  
At a door to the back he once again smelt the Other, strong enough for it to be the creature’s room. He almost barged into the sanctuary to take the creature head on, but knew that if it all went to hell he’d be screwed. There was no way he could fight off the fifty or so werewolves in the building, especially not with a hurt Buffy to protect.  
  
So he silently slipped past the room, carefully sniffing near the door for any signs of his girl. He was both relieved and worried by the fact that he couldn’t smell her behind the door. Relieved because it meant she wasn’t near the Other, but worried because he had to sneak through who knew how many wolves to find her.  
  
He continued on, carefully testing each step as he descended the stairs to the main level. His luck held out, and none of them squeaked or otherwise made noise, even to his sensitive ears.  
  
Once on the ground level, he slipped into the shadows under the stairs to survey the open space. Werewolves reclined all over the place, some asleep, but the majority were most definitely awake. He wasn’t even sure how he had managed to get so far into their territory without being detected.  
  
Spike had never been known for his patience, but he somehow managed to stand perfectly still for some time. Several wolves went up and down the stairs above him, including one massive one that made him think that the rusty metal was going to come down on his head. He recognized that one’s smell as the one that had been mixed with Buffy’s at the cafe. At her best, Buffy would have no problem with the hulk, but wounded…  
  
He wasn’t sure how long he had been there, watching the wolves from the shadows, each and every one of them strangely unaware of his presence. When he saw the female descend the stairs, he knew his moment had come.  
  
She was beautiful; he was man enough to admit that. Short dark hair, mussed from more pleasurable activities than sleep, full lips made for kissing, and dark eyes that held all her secrets. If he hadn’t been totally ass over end for Buffy, he might have even thought about chatting her up.  
  
Most importantly, though, she positively reeked of the Other. She was obviously the creature’s bedmate, and a vampire to boot. To be able to bring a vamp amongst the feral hatred of the local wolves screamed of power. The Other had power, and this woman was his ticket to Buffy.  
  
He moved before he could think about the consequences, wrapping one arm around her firm torso and bringing his short sword up to her neck, forcing her head at an odd angle. She let out a little noise, which alerted every werewolf on the floor. Seeing the vampire in distress, they all sprang to their feet, but a little more pressure on her neck prevented them from attacking him.  
  
The massive beast pushed to the front of the crowd, his eyes blue on black, warning any who knew the signs that he was about to shift. He growled something out in a deep, gravely voice, too fast for Spike’s limited Czech to catch, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out. It was obviously a threat, telling him to release the girl.  
  
“You get your girl when I get mine,” he stated, pressing the blade firmly to the vamp’s throat. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, but it was an implicit warning that he had all the power at the moment. He slipped into game face to add impact to the threat, and was pleased to see some of the wolves back away from him and his captive.  
  
“Where is she?” he asked, hoping that one of the wolves understood English well enough to point him towards Buffy. The stench of so many wolves packed like sardines was covering any hint of her he might find.  
  
A clatter came from the stairs as a man came down. One sniff was enough to tell him that this was the Other, and he couldn’t help but be surprised. The man looked human. Like a rather harmless human, actually, what with the hoodie sweatshirt, jeans, and bare feet. But his scent was a different story.  
  
Spike could _smell_ the power radiating off the creature. It was part wolf, part vampire, or the local version, at least. Spike had never heard of someone trying to turn a werewolf, but lots of vamps did crazy things.  
  
The man said something in Czech, low and comforting. No doubt he was reassuring his partner that everything would be alright. Spike sincerely hoped for all of their sakes that he was right.  
  
The woman in his arms whispered a few words in response to a question the man asked. Spike caught the word _zloduch_ , which meant demon. She must be one of the ones who he had come up against so many years ago.  
  
“You’ll get your bird back when I have the girl,” he repeated for the benefit of the Other. The man looked surprised, and spoke to the wolves surrounding them, his voice soothing and confident but his shoulders tense. The large wolf rumbled something to him, and they had a brief, low-voiced argument before the shape shifter backed down.  
  
“I can’t allow you to hurt the girl,” the Other finally said to him, switching to English.  
  
“I’m not gonna,” he assured him. “I just want to get her out of here before she gets any more caught up in your petty little war. That’s how she got hurt, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Petty!” the woman he held captive hissed in softly accented English. “The war has been going on since before you were born, abomination.”  
  
Spike snorted softly and ignored the jibe. “The girl. The one you brought here, wounded. Where is she?”  
  
The man gestured for him to follow as he led the way to one corner of the warehouse. There, behind screens, was Buffy, pale but whole.  
  
Keeping a wary eye on the Other and the large wolf, who had followed them into the makeshift infirmary, Spike backed towards the table, making sure to keep the vampire held firmly.  
  
“Buffy,” he said as his hip bumped the table. “Buffy, luv, open those gorgeous eyes of yours. We have to get out of here.”  
  
Her eyes fluttered and she groaned.  
  
“That’s it, pet. I need you to wake up.”  
  
“Spike?” she mumbled, eyes opening a crack. “You’re dead.”  
  
“I got better,” he said with a smirk, letting his game face slip away. “Not like I’m the only one to ever come back from the dead.”  
  
“Tired.”  
  
The human looking man stepped close to the table, causing Spike to growl a warning.  
  
“I just want to check her bandage,” he said, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. “I’m a doctor. I brought her here because she was shot.”  
  
He reluctantly nodded his assent and watched him like a hawk as he changed the bandage wrapped around one pale shoulder. He growled again when Buffy whimpered in pain.  
  
He was about to attempt to get her moving again when a roar went through the warehouse. The sound of gunfire soon followed.  
  
He reacted instinctively, tossing his hostage to the floor and covering Buffy’s still unconscious body with his own as bullets ripped through the fragile screen. He heard grunts as the large wolf and the Other were hit, and felt the burning of bullets ripping into his own back.


	3. Chapter 3

Earlier…  
  
  
Selene silently left the infirmary, confident that Michael would follow her as soon as he saw to his patient’s comfort. She knew he missed his old, human life, and wished that he had never gotten caught in the feud that had raged for over a thousand years. But to wish that was to wish he had never been born and then she never would have met him.  
  
He worried about her, she knew that. Worried that she was in some sort of shock, acting as an automaton. Worried that when she came to his bed it was not because she had feelings for him, but because she was using him to feel anything.  
  
It wasn’t true, of course. She had been numb for a long time, over a hundred years, feeling nothing but hate and anger. He had changed all of that.  
  
She could still remember the first time she had seen him, really seen him. She had met his eyes in that dingy subway station and gasped at the feelings that flooded her. Her grey world had suddenly come to life with color; it had terrified her.  
  
She hadn’t let it show, of course. The back stabbing atmosphere of the coven had taught her to conceal her emotions well. Even now she kept her face carefully blank, from habit and an irrational fear that to show emotions was to reveal weakness.  
  
Viktor had seen that weakness when he had ripped her away from Michael’s throat over a year ago. He had seen the fledgling love she harbored in her heart and had reacted just as she feared he would. Her dark father had been the one to insist that love was a weakness. To be strong you had to overcome your baser instincts -- as she had found he had done when he executed his own daughter.  
  
For months after the debacle of Viktor’s assault on the Lycans, she had resisted the urge to give into her attraction and love for her hybrid. She told herself that she could not care for an infant who would get himself killed in a heartbeat. As Viktor had proved, superior strength and speed meant nothing if you didn’t know how to use it. She concentrated all of her energy on teaching him to defend himself, first with the guns he so despised, then with the weapons nature had given him.  
  
It was kind of amusing to think that the strongest of immortals was a pacifist.  
  
He learned quickly, despite his reluctance to do harm. Soon, she had one less excuse.  
  
That was when it happened. Kraven had gathered enough allies from the covens to come out of hiding, and he immediately went after them.  
  
They had lost half of the remaining Lycans that night, and Michael’s body was riddled with silver. Only his hybrid status had kept him alive, something for which she was forever grateful.  
  
That night, she had tended his wounds, carefully concealing the fearful tears that gathered in her eyes. It was the first night she spent in his bed, not as a lover, but as a protector. When he awoke the next night to find her wrapped around him, the look in his eyes was enough to plunge her over the edge.  
  
The Lycans watched her pass by, no doubt wondering what she thought of their guest. Gaining their trust had been harder than giving into her feelings. But they accepted Michael unconditionally as alpha, and in the end, as long as he wanted her around, they would accept her.  
  
Selene made her way up the stairs, determined to wait for her lover in their room. They had one of the few private rooms in the lair thanks to Michael’s position. It was her sanctuary against the times when being surrounded by her one time enemies became too much, and all the Lycans respected it.  
  
She opened the door and slipped in, making sure to firmly shut the door behind her. Once it was closed, she wilted and stumbled to the pallet set on the floor, physically exhausted from the short venture out of the room.  
  
It had started gradually, with dizzy spells when she first stood up. She had concealed the syncope from Michael and the Lycans and dismissed it as a lack of proper feeding. The dizzy spells had abated, but an all consuming tiredness took its place. It had gotten to the point where it was all she could do to keep her mysterious aliment from her lover. She had taken to spending all of her time in their room, foregoing the rare forays the Lycans made for supplies.  
  
She knew Michael thought she was depressed and considered that easier than the truth: she had absolutely no idea what was wrong with her. Vampires weren’t supposed to get sick. In her 130 years, she had only seen one sick immortal, one who had been dosed with a poison lethal to even their kind.  
  
If she were truthful with herself, she would admit that she was terrified. The memory of the poor poisoned vampire was enough for her to mentally go over everything she had come into contact with in the last few months, desperately searching for anything unusual. If it was poison, there was no hope for her.  
  
She worried about how Michael would take it. He depended on her to be the stabilizing force in his life. Always, after one of Kraven’s attacks, he would crawl into their bed and lay his head upon her lap. She was his emotional support, as odd as that sounded.  
  
Without her, would her innocent warrior become a dark knight? Would he take the fight to Kraven, intent on either revenge of oblivion? Or would he fade away?  
  
She pulled her thoughts away from their morbid path as she heard him outside the door. It wouldn’t do to worry him.  
  
He smiled at her as he slipped into the room. She didn’t respond, didn’t have the energy to respond. She could see his brow wrinkle in concern and summoned up the wherewithal to make some sort of conversation.  
  
“How is she?”  
  
“Better than I thought she would be,” he confessed. “She’s resting for now. I’ve done everything I could to stave off infection. If everything goes well, she’ll be gone by this time tomorrow, just like I promised.”  
  
She nodded absently. “And your meeting?”  
  
He flopped onto the pallet beside her and let out a sigh. “As well as can be expected. He doesn’t really trust me, but agreed to meet me tomorrow with supplies. Luckily, he left before the vampires showed up. I just hope he doesn’t hear about the café and put two and two together.”  
  
“Afraid he’ll rabbit?”  
  
“Adam has always done the right thing. If he thinks the right thing is turning me over to the police… I can only hope he calls the real police and not Death Dealer goons.”  
  
A knock on the door prevented her from questioning him further, and she gratefully dozed as he took care of Clan business. Supplicant after supplicant came before him, each with some bit of important information or problem for his consideration. Raze was one of them, quietly explaining that he had lost the vampires.  
  
They were going to have to move again soon, she thought idly. Kraven was narrowing down the search and would soon find this lair. As the thought passed through her head, she heard her love tell his second the same thing and heard Raze rumble an agreement. He would send searchers out the next day.  
  
She faded in and out, listening to Michael deal with Clan business for quite awhile before the emptiness of her stomach forced her into action. She carefully checked to make sure that he was outside the door before wearily climbing to her feet. She consciously straightened her shoulders before she opened the door, presenting an air of her normal confidence.  
  
“I’m going to get something to eat,” she told him as she passed him. He nodded absently, his attention on the young female in front of him. Selene couldn’t resist a warning glare at the pup before she descended the stairs, just to make sure she understood where she stood when it came to Michael.  
  
The Lycans on the ground level were lounging around in groups, talking, resting, and otherwise going about their nightly business. They had become night creatures out of sheer necessity. It wouldn’t do to be caught literally sleeping when the Covens attacked.  
  
She nodded to Raze, who watched her walk by with a frown. Perhaps he knew that something was wrong. If so, she could only hope he would keep his own counsel.  
  
Before she could take more than a few steps away from the staircase, a strong arm wrapped around her middle and a long blade was suddenly pressed to her neck. She remembered when she would have taken out anyone who had the audacity to touch her without her permission. But now she froze, unaccountably terrified.  
  
She must have made some sort of noise, because suddenly every Lycan in the room was on his or her feet and growling softly at her captor, causing him to press the blade a little more firmly into her neck. Raze, eyes already shifted in anger, pushed his way to the front, the others reluctantly giving way to their beta.  
  
“We’re going to rip you to shreds if you don’t let her go in two seconds,” he growled, his voice lower than usual.  
  
“You get your girl when I get mine,” her captor said in English, his accent reminding her of Kahn. He threatened her throat with the blade again, and she heard an odd shifting sound. It wasn’t the sound she had come to associate with shifting Lycans, that painful sounding popping of bones. If she had to describe it, she would say it was the sound of bone rubbing against bone.  
  
Whatever he had done, it was enough to startle some of the greener Lycans back. She could practically feel his pleasure at the motion.  
  
“Where is she?”  
  
As soon as the question was out of his British mouth, Michael came rushing down the stairs. He kept to a nearly human speed, obviously not wanting to scare the man into doing something rash.  
  
She could feel the man watching her love, and risked glancing at his face. She barely suppressed a gasp at the sight of his transformed features.  
  
She had seen such a face once before, early in her life as a Death Dealer. Viktor had explained what the creatures that had dared to invade their city were: demons, abominations. They lived only for the hunt, for the feed. Viktor had demanded that each demon be captured alive, and then had beheaded them one at a time in front of the whole Coven. Each had exploded into dust.  
  
“Selene,” Michael said, his voice quiet. “Are you OK?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What is that thing?”  
  
The question wasn’t meant for her, but she answered anyway, unsure if any of the Lycans had encountered the species before. “A demon,” she whispered.  
  
The creature didn’t give Michael any time to process the information. He spoke again, in English. “You’ll get your bird back when I have the girl.”  
  


* * *

  
Michael was surprised by the British demon’s demand. He had come into a Lycan lair in order to kidnap the American? The creature must surely have a death wish.  
  
He could hear his Clan growling softly, ready to spring. The thought of them attacking and accidentally causing that blade to pierce Selene’s throat was enough to chill his blood.  
  
“Stand down!” he hissed in Czech so that he was assured that all of the Lycans understood him. He would not risk Selene.  
  
“We can take him,” Raze said softly, eying the intruder. Indeed, he didn’t look very impressive, even with his oddly warped face. He figured he had the strength and speed to break the bastard in half before the demon knew what hit him. Only the terrified look in Selene’s eyes prevented him from trying.  
  
“No,” he whispered. “We can’t risk him hurting Selene.” Raze growled in response, clearly not pleased with that line of logic.  
  
“He snuck into a building full of Lycans because of this girl. If he’s willing to do that, he’s desperate enough to hurt Selene to get his way.”  
  
“Their kind only care for the hunt. If he wants the girl, it’s to feed.”  
  
Michael nodded, briefly torn between protecting his mate and protecting a stranger. There really was no choice involved. Selene came first, but he would do what he could for the American.  
  
“I can’t allow you to hurt the girl,” he finally stated, watching the demon warily.  
  
“I’m not gonna. I just want to get her out of here before she gets any more caught up in your petty little war. That’s how she got hurt, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Petty!” Selene hissed, switching to English so that the demon could understand her. “The war has been going on since before you were born, abomination.”  
  
The demon snorted and said, “The girl. The one you brought here, wounded. Where is she?”  
  
Michael gestured for the Lycans to remain where they were, then motioned for the demon to follow him. Raze trailed after them, keeping a wary eye on the creature, which he returned with interest.  
  
The Brit sighed when he saw the woman on the table, and backed up until his hip bumped its side. He carefully kept the blade at Selene’s throat and he called to the American.  
  
“Buffy. Buffy, luv, open those gorgeous eyes of yours. We have to get out of here.”  
  
Her eyes fluttered and she groaned.  
  
“That’s it, pet. I need you to wake up.”  
  
“Spike?” she mumbled, eyes opening a crack. “You’re dead.”  
  
“I got better,” he said with a smirk, the ridges on his forehead fading to reveal a handsome man with blue eyes. “Not like I’m the only one to ever come back from the dead.”  
  
“Tired.”  
  
Michael watched the exchange with interest, studying both the demon and the woman he now knew was Buffy. They obviously knew each other, and something about the way Spike looked at the wounded blonde reminded him of the looks he directed at Selene when he was sure the former Death Dealer couldn’t catch him studying her. He was confident that the woman would be safe with the demon, as odd as that sounded. He believed that the Brit would indeed release Selene, but wanted to make sure moving Buffy would not cause her more damage. With that in mind, he moved to check her bandage, earning a low growl from Spike.  
  
“I just want to check her bandage,” he said, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. “I’m a doctor. I brought her here because she was shot.”  
  
Spike nodded and watched as he checked the wound. He was surprised to find that it looked as if the wound was several days old instead of a few hours. Maybe his patient wasn’t as human as she appeared. She whimpered in pain as he retaped gauze to her bruised shoulder, earning him a growl from her erstwhile protector.  
  
Spike opened his mouth to say something else when a roar of “Bloods!” came from beyond the partition. Automatic weapons’ fire followed in the echo, and the room was suddenly in chaos.  
  
Spike thrust Selene to the floor and covered as much of Buffy’s torso with his own body as he could. Michael launched himself at his paler than normal mate, performing the same instinctive duty. He heard grunts come from Spike, indicating the demon had been hit several times. The stench of singed flesh came from the direction of Raze, who was roaring in pain and anger. His own back was peppered with oddly numb spots, telling him that their attackers were using silver nitrate rounds.  
  
He roared out his own anger as he thought of the slaughter that was surely occurring in the main room. The entirety of his much decimated Clan was clustered in the other room, waiting for the odd standoff to resolve itself. The silver nitrate rounds would plow though them like a car through road-side weeds.  
  
Selene made a little whimpering sound, knocking him out of his rage. He looked down at her, shocked that she wasn’t knocking him out of the way, angry that he was blocking her line of fire. It was only then that he realized that she didn’t have a weapon. And neither did he.  
  
A few feet away, Spike suddenly toppled the table, taking himself and Buffy down with it and affording them the protection of the thick wood. The demon check briefly on his blonde friend before his face changed once again and he jumped over the fallen table and ran at the firing vampires.  
  
Michael took his cue from his odd ally. Moving faster than even vampire senses could see, he picked his mate up and ran to the safety of the table. He gently set her down beside the scowling Buffy and briefly touched her cheek before following the demon’s lead.  
  
He launched himself at the nearest blood, shifting as he did so. It was a smooth shift, nothing like that first torturous one. It was done in the blink of an eye. He quickly ripped the head off the attacking vampire and moved on to the next one. And the next one. He let the bodies fall where they would, unconcerned about fouling the area of combat.  
  
He caught glimpses of Spike off to one side, sword flashing darkly. He wasn’t as quick as Michael -- heck, he wasn’t as quick as the vampires -- but he fought like a man possessed, felling bloods right and left. The demon was obviously an accomplished fighter.  
  
“Abomination,” Kraven yelled in Czech, firing another round at him. “I will wipe out you and your entire pack of mongrels. Then I’ll take that betraying whore and stake her out in the sun. How’d it feel to know that she would spread her legs to any Death Dealer that smiled at her? That the whore you made puppy eyes at had spent a hundred years screaming for anyone with a dick?”  
  
Michael gave a low growl and threw his opponent out of the way, sending him crashing into the wall with enough force to crush bones. He turned to find Kraven, only to find him quite close to where Selene was huddling with the American. The angle made it impossible for the vampire to see the defenseless women, but from the way he sniffed the air as he circled around the fighting mass, his face darkening for a moment, he knew where his obsession was.  
  
“You really are pathetic,” he laughed. “Loving that whore. Was she good? Did you enjoy the tricks I taught her, tricks any good bitch should know?  
  
Selene hissed from her hiding place, eliciting a laugh from their enemy. “What’s wrong, Selene? Are you afraid I’ll reveal your pathetic little secret? Vampire pregnancies are rare, you know,” he called across the floor to where Michael was still battling several vampires. “If it weren’t for the fact that she’s made herself a Lycan bitch, she would be almost revered in the Coven. Is that why you cuckolded him, Selene? To ingratiate yourself to Marcus? To replace the pure born you slaughtered?”  
  
Michael used a bit of jagged pipe he had ripped from the wall to dispatch another vampire, shoving it in his heart and lungs, causing black blood to well up in the creature’s mouth. He turned to the next threat, eager to finish the rogue Death Dealers so that he could feel Kraven’s spine cracking beneath his hands. In the back of his mind he knew that he’d be horrified by his brutality later. Right now, a red haze had descended over him, amplifying the sounds of his suffering Clan.  
  
“Did she tell you the child was yours? Did she leave you to believe that a mule such as yourself could ever reproduce?”  
  
Michael stopped in shock as the filth Kraven was currently spewing finally penetrated his haze of anger, allowing the latest vampire opponent to get a good punch in. His head jerked to the side under the force of the blow, and he growled low before raking his claws across the vamp’s throat.  
  
“Pregnant?” he gasped as the next challenger rushed him. He dimly heard Spike laughing as the demon cut the head from an opponent.  
  
“Can you not smell it? There’s no other smell quite like the smell of a breeding female. Soon you should be able to hear the little bastard’s heartbeat.  
  
“When did she sneak out to meet her lover, I wonder? Did she go directly from your bed, unfulfilled, to his? Or from his, sated, to yours?”  
  
Michael turned to the next threat and was pleased to see that all of his attackers were down. Spike was still battling a vampire off to one side, but the ten or so that had surrounded him were now scattered about his feet. That left only Kraven for Michael.  
  
He focused his entire attention on the dark vampire, growling lowly at his proximity to his vulnerable mate. What little rational thought he had left flew out of his head as he rushed the vampire, not giving him time to react before he was pinned to the wall by Michael’s powerful arms. The hybrid calmly drew one arm back and smashed it into Kraven’s face and through the wall behind the vampire’s head.  
  
“You talk too much,” he snarled as he let the meat fall to the floor. He stood over the body, daring it to move so that he could rip it to pieces. He wanted to rip it to pieces, to sink his fangs and claws into the flesh and rend it until nothing remained but little splatters.  
  
A groan from Raze broke him out of his daze, and he quickly moved to the still huddled Selene, shifting as he went. She stared up at him with confused eyes and he lifted his hand to reassure her with a touch, only to grimace when he noticed the blood and brain matter dripping from his fingers.  
  
He gave her a tentative smile instead, and asked the question Kraven had raised. “Pregnant?”  
  
If anything, the confusion in her eyes increased, and she ducked her head, trying to hide the damning emotions that shone through her eyes.  
  
“Bloody hell,” a whispered comment came from the main room, tearing his attention away from his mate. Spike was standing in the middle of the carnage, staring down at Leena, their youngest Clan member. Her blue eyes stared up at the British demon in fear and pain, her pale skin mottled with blacked veins as the silver spread its poison through her system.  
  
Michael dashed to the young Lycan’s side and groaned at the amount of silver circulating through her system. He knew there was nothing he could do to help her, not even with state of the art equipment. He tenderly brushed her brown hair out of her face before turning to the closest Clan member.  
  
“Oy! Where’re you goin’? Can’t you see she needs help?”  
  
“Help I can’t provide. The silver’s too prevalent in her blood now. But I may be able to help others in my Clan.”  
  


* * *

  
Spike watched the blonde man walk away and then glanced down at the young girl at his feet. She was no older than Dawn, looked a bit like his Nibblet, too, with the dark hair and big blue eyes. And, according to the creature who claimed to be a doctor, she was going to die.  
  
He watched as the doctor checked on another werewolf and sadly shake his head before moving on to yet another. A quick glance around showed him that almost all of the wolves in the pack had been hit with the silver oozing bullets. Almost all of them were in the same dire position.  
  
His jaw clenched as the girl moaned in pain. He could just grab Buffy and leave. These people were nothing to him. He had only helped with the bastardized vamps because they were threatening Buffy. He didn’t owe them…  
  
He shook his head as he pulled the mercifully undamaged cell phone from his pocket. His precious duster was riddled with holes, as was his flesh, but the cell phone was unharmed. He hit the speed dial with a grim look around the warehouse.  
  
“Did you find her?” was the question asked in lieu of a hello.  
  
“Yeah. Listen, I need medical supplies. Bandages, pain killers, everything you can get -- and doctors, ones that know how to deal with werewolves. And something that can purify blood, take out silver.”  
  
“And just where am I supposed to get this?”  
  
“How the bloody hell should I know, Percy? Just get it here.”  
  
Wesley was silent for a moment, over educated brain no doubt running through his options. “The nearest Wolfram and Hart office is in Berlin. I’ll call them and see what I can do. Stay with your cell, we’ll use it to plot a location.”  
  
“Good,” Spike replied before shutting off the phone and dropping it back into his pocket. He knelt at the girl’s side and laid a comforting hand on her forehead. “Don’t worry, Bite-sized, Wesley’ll come through for you. Just wait and see.”  
  
As promised, Wesley walked in five minutes later, trailed by a team of medical professionals. Their appearance caused the hackles to rise on the few wolves who were not critically wounded, and there was a tense moment until Spike talked to their odd leader.  
  
“It’s alright, mate,” Spike reassured him, gently placing the young female on a gurney. “They know what they’re doing. If anyone can help them, they can.”  
  
“What do they know about Lycan physiology?” he asked, glaring at a doctor who was gently examining the girl’s blackened veins.  
  
“Quite a lot, actually,” the doctor replied, her voice colored with German. “We specialize in supernatural species. This girl needs the silver cleansed from her blood immediately,” she yelled over her shoulder to a group of people setting up machines. “Hook her to dialysis right away.”  
  
A nurse gave a quick nod and hurried the gurney away to where technicians were setting up a bank of machines.  
  
“Dialysis?” the alpha asked.  
  
The doctor gave a quick nod and examined another patient. “Our machines can be… Changed, yes, that is the word, changed to target specific elements in the blood. In this case, silver. It will not be a complete cure, you understand. We can do nothing about the majority of the damage. But we can prevent any more damage. It will be enough to give your pack a fighting chance, correct?”  
  


* * *

  
Michael nodded in answer to the human doctor’s question. He was a bit dazed that humans had come to their aid, and that it had been arranged by a demon, of all creatures. He quickly shook off the amazement and pitched in to help, triaging the Lycans.  
  
The next few hours passed in a blur of medical technology and blood. After dialysis, most of his clan were strong enough to shift and force the remaining silver out of their flesh, but even with the five super fast machines in operation, several Lycans died.  
  
It was after dawn when the medical staff finally left, having done all they could for the Clan. Michael had not slept in over twenty-four hours, but he still went from bed to bed, reassuring his Lycans that he was still alive and that they would be alright. Selene had retreated to their room, shaken up but physically fine. He would join her when he could.  
  
He had just finished tucking Leena in when he saw Spike and another man approach the gurney Buffy lay on. The blonde American had been dosed with a pain killer and her gun shot wound treated with the proper equipment, but had refused to be taken to a conventional hospital or her hotel.  
  
“Hello, luv,” Spike said, giving her a shy smile. “How are you feeling?”  
  
The blonde smiled sweetly at him and let her fist fly, landing a solid punch on his nose. The demon reared back with a roar and took several steps back, cradling his nose.  
  
“Feeling better, then?” the human man said, smiling at the American.  
  
“Much. Hey, Wes.”  
  
“Buffy,” he responded, ignoring Spike’s cursing. Michael decided this was as good a time as any to find out what exactly was going on.  
  
“I’m Michael Corvin,” he said, offering his hand to the British human.  
  
“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. And you’ve met our lovely Miss Summers.”  
  
“Buffy,” she corrected, taking his hand in a surprisingly strong grip. “And the foul mouth over there is Spike.”  
  
“We’ve met,” Spike said, glaring at Buffy.  
  
“You could call it that,” the hybrid returned.  
  
“So, Mike,” Buffy said, causing him to wince at the nickname. “What’s the sitch?”  
  
“Situation,” Wesley explained, seeing Michael’s look of confusion.  
  
“That’s what I said. Who were the not-so-uglies with the guns?”  
  
“Vampires,” he answered, only to be met with incredulous stares from the humans. “You obviously know about Lycans,” he stated, waving a hand to indicate the werewolves arranged on the gurneys the medical staff had left behind. “The vampires are our sworn enemies. I’m sorry to say that you just got caught in the middle of a war that’s been going on for over a thousand years.  
  
“You really should leave Prague as soon as you possibly can. We try to keep humans out of the war, but if the Coven discovers you’ve been in contact with us, it’s very likely they would kill you just on principle.”  
  
“We’re pretty hard to kill,” Buffy muttered, shooting a look at Spike, who snorted in response.  
  
“Fascinating,” Wesley said, giving Michael a look that made him feel as if he were a bug under a microscope. “If I may ask, what caused the outbreak of hostilities?”  
  
“Trust me, you don’t want any more information. Don’t get involved.”  
  
“But, judging from the massacre that almost occurred here, you may need my help.” Wesley extracted a Wolfram and Hart card from a small case. “I’m a member of a law firm that specializes in unique cases. One of the things we do is mediate peace negotiations. Or, perhaps we can assist you in relocating if peace is not viable.”  
  
“Where would we go that the Bloods wouldn’t hunt us down?” he asked sarcastically.  
  
“Pretty much anywhere, actually. These vampires of yours seem to be unique to this area. I’ve studied the occult for most of my life, and let me assure you that I had no idea of their existence until tonight.”  
  
Spike snorted once again, earning a glare from Wesley. “And some people,” the human continued. “Didn’t feel it necessary to inform me.”  
  
“Would you’ve believed me?”  
  
“Possibly.”  
  
“What do you mean,” Michael interrupted. “About the vamps being unique?”  
  
Wesley pulled a couple of chairs from the corner of the room and settled into one, indicating that Michael do the same. “How much do you know about this breed of vampires?”  
  
“Quite a lot, judging from the chippy upstairs,” Spike said, earning a growl from Michael and a glare from both Wesley and Buffy.  
  
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Wesley supplied when he saw the untrusting look on Michael’s face. “While I’ve very curious about this breed, I will not force you or any one else to give me information. The LA branch of Wolfram and Hart does not operate that way.  
  
“I took the liberty of examining some of your attackers tonight. While most of them were dead, there was one who was barely alive. Don’t worry,” he assured when he saw Michael start to rise. “He’s dead now. But I was astonished to discover that the vampire’s heart beat.”  
  
“Why shouldn’t it?” the hybrid asked.  
  
“Because vampires, by definition, are humans that die and are possessed by the spirit of a demon. Their hearts do not beat. When they die, all that is left is dust. This is clearly not the case with the local version.”  
  
“Nope, they leave bodies,” Spike confirmed, earning another glare from Wesley.  
  
“Angel said I could stake you if you got too annoying, you know?”  
  
Spike was going to answer, but Buffy beat him to it. “I’d be mad if you did.”  
  
Michael watched as Spike’s whole face lit up at the words, only to fall at the blonde’s next pronunciation. “If anyone’s going to make the peroxide pest fit in an ashtray, it’ll be me.”  
  
“Be that as it may,” Wesley said. “These vampires are not found anywhere else to my knowledge. It makes me think that they have strong ties to this area, either traditional or mystical. You could move any where else in the world and never see one of them again, I believe.”  
  
Michael shook his head. “Amelia’s Coven, or what was Amelia’s Coven, was based out of Washington, DC.”  
  
Wesley hmmed softly before nodding his head. “That makes sense, actually. Both Washington, DC and Prague are considered supernatural dead zones. This breed of vampire must somehow repel demons.”  
  
“They’re territorial,” Spike offered, lighting up a cigarette. “Drove me and Dru out of here in ’95.”  
  
This time Buffy snorted, earning a sheepish look from the demon.  
  
“Never the less,” Wesley continued, glaring at both of his companions. “Los Angeles has a large supernatural community, and Wolfram and Hart could provide safe places to contain you during the full moon.”  
  
“You mean lock us up?”  
  
“I’m afraid that would be one thing we would have to insist upon. Angel, my boss, reacts badly to humans in LA being hurt. If any of your pack attacked a human, he would hunt that person down.”  
  
Michael shook his head. “Only the newest of us can not control the change. We haven’t had an incident in several years.”  
  
Wesley nodded, pleased with this information.  
  
“I… I need to think about this, talk it over with my Clan.”  
  
“Of course. We’ll get out of your way,” he said, rising. “Spike, the car is as near the door as the driver could manage. If you will wait a moment, I’ll carry Buffy out and you can follow once I have her settled.”  
  
Spike nodded and watched the man carry Buffy away with an eagle eye, cursing the fact that the sun made it impossible for him to carry the slayer himself.  
  


* * *

  
“So,” Spike started once they were safely back at the hotel. He had carried Buffy up to her room so that the slayer could get some rest, but was reluctant to leave her after she was settled.  
  
“So,” she returned.  
  
Spike let loose a hearty sigh and ran one hand through his bleached hair. “Buffy, love, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was back. And you have every right to be pissed at me for it. I… I just didn’t know what to say. I mean, even if I had known where you were, what was I supposed to do, pick up the phone and say ‘Hello, Buffy. It's Spike. I didn't burn up like you thought. How are things?’ Would sound like a bloody wanker.”  
  
“Spike-“  
  
“And I thought you should have a chance at a normal life, ya know? You don’t have to go out and fight the big bads anymore. You can find a house with a white picket fence and have a passel of bite-sized Buffys. And I can’t give you that.”  
  
“Spike,” Buffy tried again, yawning so hard that her jaw popped.  
  
“Sorry, luv. I didn’t realize you were so tired. I’ll still be around for you to yell at tomorrow, get some sleep.”  
  
“You’re right, you will be,” she said as he moved towards the door. “Now get that skinny little ass over here and hold me while I sleep. I’ll tear into you tomorrow; tonight I just want to be held.”  
  
He gave her a tremulous smile and carefully crawled onto the bed with her. She immediately snuggled up next to him, her head in the well created by his shoulder and her wounded arm wrapped around his torso. He gave her head a small kiss before turning off the light and settling down to sleep.  
  


* * *

  
She was sitting on their pallet when he quietly slipped into their room, gazing out into the semi darkness afforded by the blackened windows. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them and her chin resting on her knees. She looked lost, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.  
  
“Selene,” he called softly, leaning against the wall near the door, consciously not crowding her.  
  
She jumped, startled by his appearance, having been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard him enter.  
  
“Michael,” she replied, shifting to watch him out of the corner of her eye. It hurt that she wouldn’t look at him head on. She could face the biggest Lycan or the most obsessive Death Dealer without flinching, but she couldn’t look at him.  
  
“Are you feeling OK?” He winced once the question was out of his mouth. Just like him to blunder in with no tact.  
  
“Even if I had gotten hit, silver nitrate doesn’t affect me.”  
  
“Kraven said some pretty nasty things.”  
  
“And then you pulverized his head.”  
  
“I did.”  
  
He watched her, unsure about what to say next. If only she wasn’t so distant. He had no idea what she was thinking, what she was feeling.  
  
“You hate violence,” she pointed out.  
  
“There are times that it’s necessary.”  
  
“You should have never experienced it. You should be at the hospital, saving lives instead of taking them.”  
  
“I still save lives,” he said.  
  
“It’s a losing battle. There are only fifty Clan members left. One attack from Marcus and it’s all over.”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be. Wesley, the human who brought the doctors, says that the Coven is limited to a few areas. We could leave. We could be safe.”  
  
“And then what? We find a nice burned-out warehouse and set up house?”  
  
“We do whatever you want,” he whispered.  
  
She silently hugged her knees closer to her chest and still refused to look at him.  
  
“Or, he offered to negotiate peace for us. You – you could go back to the Coven. Probably not right away, but eventually.”  
  
“I’m a Lycan whore, remember? Even the most tolerant of the Death Dealers would kill me on sight, peace or no.”  
  
He sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He wanted to see her eyes, to read the emotions that shown there. With that in mind, he cautiously approached and knelt at her feet.  
  
Her eyes were wells of confusion and fear. They made his heart ache. He didn’t think, he just took her in his arms and held her, rocking gently back and forth.  
  
“It’ll be OK,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “It’ll be OK.”  
  
“Michael,” she said, after several minutes. “About what Kraven said…”  
  
“Are you?”  
  
“I – I don’t know. I know nothing of vampire pregnancies. There has not been one in over three hundred years. I do not even know what signs to look for.”  
  
“Have you been ill?”  
  
She ducked her head, hiding briefly in his chest. “I was dizzy. And now I’m tired. All the time I’m tired.”  
  
“I know less than you about vampire reproduction, I’ll wager. But in the early stages of human pregnancy the woman often experiences fatigue.”  
  
“What he said – “  
  
“Was his usual bunch of lies.” He tilted her head up so that he could gaze into her eyes and so that she could see that he was perfectly serious. “All lies.”  
  
She buried her face into his chest once again. “Is it possible? Peace?”  
  
“I don’t know,” he whispered, laying his cheek on her hair. “I don’t know.”  
  


* * *

  
Two nights later, two men in conservative suits walked up to the gates of a large mansion. The man in charge calmly presented a business card to the guards and asked for an audience with their lord. After a few minutes’ conference, the guards allowed them access and escorted them to the audience chamber.  
  
Meanwhile, across the city, fifty-three werewolves, one vampire, and one creature that was neither one nor the other boarded a private jet, bound for a new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I realize that it ends without really settling anything. Let me assure you that it was deliberate. Will there be a happy ending for our couples? I don’t know. I can’t see either couple settling down in a cozy lair with a white picket fence (unless Buffy uses it to threaten Spike *grin*).


End file.
